


Phone Calls

by redrosebouquet



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, breakup theory, bruh this is really so sad lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27957962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redrosebouquet/pseuds/redrosebouquet
Summary: Jensen calls him at 2am, when they're not supposed to be doing that anymore.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	Phone Calls

Misha has to be fucking dreaming. He has to be through the looking glass here, because there is no other way that Jensen would be calling him on the phone anymore. Especially not in the middle of the night.

He considers not picking up, just rolling over and going back to bed. It’s what the prick deserves. Too bad he has a hold on Misha even when they’re broken up, separated, whatever.

He slides his thumb across the screen to answer it, stepping out of bed and padding to the courtyard, staring at the grainy moon, half-hidden by light pollution.

“Jensen?”

He can hear a sigh of almost relief from the other end of the phone. It makes his chest hurt.

“Hey Mish.”

“Is there a reason you’re calling me at 2am?”

The pause his heavy at the end of the phone.

“Miss you.”

Misha closes his eyes at the words.

He’s drunk. That doesn’t make it better.

“Have you been drinking?”

“I was thinkin,” Jensen’s accent is always more pronounced when he’s drunk, Misha hates that it still turns him on, “About that time in Colorado.”

It takes nothing for Misha to remember what he’s talking about. He hates that, hates that he still has this pull, that his memories of him aren’t tainted with anger the way he wants them to be. He hates that he can remember everything about it, everything about that night.

It had been a rainy night, the sound of it pattering gently at the windshield of the car that Jensen had insisted on renting so he could drive around the mountains and the city while they were there. They had just come back from dinner, and Jensen had not wanted to go back to the hotel yet, so they had ended up in the parking lot of a dark, quiet park, watching the rain and listening to Willie Nelson on Jensen’s phone.

“I like it here,” Jensen sighs, staring up through the sunroof at the car at the rain in the black sky.

“It’s beautiful,” Misha agrees, “Winters would suck though.”

“No worse than Vancouver.”

“Fair, but I never handled those well.”

Jensen smiles, and leans in to kiss him. It’s slow and unhurried and gentle. It was going to be that kind of night.

“Let’s go home, Jensen,” Misha sighs into his mouth after a while. Jensen pulls back indignantly.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want my spine to be permanently twisted.”

“We could just go to the back,” Jensen wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Misha laughs.

“We’re too old to fuck in the back of a car. A rental car no less.”

“Don’t call me old,” Jensen stutters a gasp as Misha runs a purposeful hand across his jeans, “Fine, if you don’t want to relive your horny teenage years with me, I guess I won’t be offended.”

Misha leans over to kiss Jensen’s neck, smiling against his skin as his heart beats faster.

“I always wanna relive my horny teenage years with you, I also don’t want to slip a disc trying to fuck in the back of a rental car in a park. Take me to bed.”

Jensen dutifully doesn’t speed back to the hotel, though Misha can tell he wants to.

Misha kisses Jensen lazily, running his hands up and under his shirt in the elevator, only leaving his lips to bite gently at his neck or exposed collarbone.

When the door of the hotel room shuts behind them, the kisses continue, the temperature several degrees cooler than normal, but still enough to get them both breathing hard, drunk on each other.

They slide each other out of their clothes, Misha pulling off Jensen’s shirt, Jensen sliding down Misha’s jeans for him to step out of. They pause the undressing process at their underwear, collapsing on the bed and giggling, pressing into each other in a languid way, like water.

The heat between them cools a little again, the plucking of clothes turning into a generously long make out session, with open mouths and gentle bites and grazing of teeth in all the right places. Romantic.

Misha slides Jensen’s underwear off, smiling as Jensen arches so he can get them off easier. He kisses his hips gently, planting a kiss at every inch of exposed skin he can reach. Jensen sits up enough to push Misha’s own briefs down his legs, and they take a second to take each other in, looking up and down the ridges and divets and notches and freckles that they each knew on each other as well as their own bodies.

Jensen can’t fight back a moan as Misha kisses up his chest again, pressing into him so their bodies were flush, skin on skin. Jensen leans up and flips them around so he’s on top. His hands move slowly from Misha’s wrists to his hips, pressing him into the mattress.

“You’re so stunning,” Jensen whispers, his affirmation bouncing around the room, turning Misha’s entire body warm.

Jensen preps him, grabbing the bottle of lube on the bedside table and working him open slowly, so that Misha is the one that’s a mess, writhing underneath him. Jensen is so tender, kissing him in all the right ways, making Misha arch up into him, pressing into him, desperate to be connected in every way.

He was happy to oblige.

Jensen pushes into him with an intimate, practiced precision, and Misha moans at the feel of it, of being filled completely, of being seen, understood, beloved.

“Yes Jensen,” Misha sighs, “You’re perfect.”

The friction is gentle, Jensen’s hands still on Misha’s hips. It’s not sex, it’s lovemaking in its purest form.

“Misha,” Jensen moans his name, leaning down to place his head in the c-shape of Misha’s shoulder, moving more quickly now, hitting in all the right places, so that Misha clutches his back, dragging his blunt nails down his skin.

“Yeah, yes Jensen, I’m close baby.”

“I am too.”

Misha arches as Jensen hits a perfect spot and they’re coming together, both crying out, the sound echoing off the walls.

Jensen pulls out slowly, rolling over and pulling Misha towards him, kissing him slowly over and over and over again.

“I love you,” Jensen sighs, pressing his lips to Misha’s skin, “I love you.”

Misha wrenches himself out of the knife-sharp memory that’s cutting slashes in his skin, the memory of Jensen’s touch burning him like fire.

He can still hear Jensen breathing into the receiver, and Misha wants to break the silence, wants to tell him how much he remembers of Colorado, the feeling of Jensen’s hands on his hips, holding him in place, steadying him. But he can’t, he can’t bring himself to do that because he knows that when the phone call ends he’ll be left with the hole in his chest where his heart used to be.

“I touch myself to the thought of you,” Jensen whispers, his voice uncharacteristically small. It’s like someone took a sledgehammer to Misha’s chest.

“Jensen-”

“I think about your eyes too, how my whole body was on fire when you looked at me. The way you touched me, the way you kissed me, I feel like I’m drowning without it. I get hard and I think about you because I can’t reach across the empty bed in my apartment and pull you in.”

Misha doesn’t know what to say to this. It goes against his plan of haughty detachment that he had been playing so well for the last six months. How can he pretend to hate Jensen like this, when he’s never hated him at all?

“I’m sorry,” Misha can almost see him, the way he’s rubbing his eyes with his palm, trying to pretend like he was holding it together, “I just…”

“I know,” Misha whispers into the phone, afraid to speak these things too loudly, “I know you are.”

Misha’s words clearly make Jensen lose his tenuous grasp on control. Misha can hear the quiet sniffing on the other end of the phone, and his whole being wants to be there, be in Jensen’s large apartment, to wrap his arms around him, hold him through the pain, tell him it was all right. He’s not allowed that anymore, neither of them are.

“I love you,” Jensen’s breath hitches as he says it, “I know you can’t, I know I shouldn’t, this is my fault.”

Misha wants with all his heart to say it back.

But what if Jensen remembers it in the morning?

“It’s okay, Jensen,” Misha tries to comfort him through the phone, knowing it would never be enough, “It’s okay.”

“I fucked it up,” Jensen is crying in earnest now, causing the cracks around Misha’s shoddily repaired heart to ache, “I lost you. I’m so stupid. I loved you too much and I didn’t want you to hurt me. Mish, I love you. Don’t say it back, but I do.”

“Okay Jensen, take a breath,” Misha is doing his best not to let the words get to him, but his heart is like glass, already weak glass.

“Sorry,” Jensen stutters, trying to pull himself together. After a second, it’s like his mask clicks back into place. “I, uh, I should go.”

Misha doesn’t argue with him, even though he’d like to.

“Yeah.”

“Misha I-”

“I know. It’s okay.”

It’s not.

“Bye Mish.”

“Bye Jensen.”

The call disconnects, but Misha doesn’t take the phone away from his ear. He holds it there, pretends like Jensen is still on the other end.

“I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY. Anyway this was inspired by the song "Remember That Night?" by Sara Kays, please listen to it and cry with me lol


End file.
